


First Kiss

by KChan88



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChan88/pseuds/KChan88
Summary: Jehan and Bahorel have an accidental but enthusiastic first kiss. A little mini-fic for Poetry Smash Week on Tumblr!





	First Kiss

Jean Prouvaire’s rooms are endearingly messy.

Not what some might call  _organized_  chaos, like Combeferre.

Just sheer,  _unadulterated_  chaos.

Bahorel’s used to it.

He shoves a pile of books off the settee, making space for himself near the fire.

“Bahorel,” Prouvaire chides in that gentle yet commanding way of his. “Don’t damage my books.”

Bahorel waves a hand, unconcerned. “Ah, they look sturdy! They didn’t have far to fall anyway. Besides…” he grins. “Do you even know which books these are?”

“I…” Prouvaire tilts his head and huffs, admitting defeat. “But all my books are precious to me, you know. But do tell me, which ones are they?”

“Hmmm, let’s see.” Bahorel picks up the two volumes he pushed away, examining the titles. “ _Méditations poétiques_ , Lamartine, that doesn’t surprise me. Oh, and that new one Courfeyrac is so enamored with,  _Notre Dame de Paris_. Have you read it yet?”

Prouvaire walks over with two glasses of wine, though Bahorel already feels warm from his earlier indulgences, if not quite drunk.

“Of course,” Prouvaire answers, sitting down on the settee and handing Bahorel his glass, the touch of their fingers sending an unexpected shock through him. “I stayed up all night finishing it last week.”

“Then I shall borrow it from you.” Bahorel accepts the glass, taking his first sip of wine. It tastes earthy with just a hint of coffee, mixed with a fruit he can’t quite name. Raspberry? Blueberry? He’s not certain. “Let you know what I think. It sounds dramatic enough for my tastes. You enjoyed it, I take it?”

Prouvaire smiles, the firelight casting his features into relief, the dusting of freckles across his nose, the reddish blonde of his hair, which has grown overlong, or as Prouvaire himself might say, medieval. Their eyes catch, and they hold each other’s gaze for longer than usual. That seemed to happen all night long, before they arrived back here.

Truth be told, Bahorel’s been wondering what it might be like to kiss Jehan, lately.

He’s just not sure he ought to.

“What?” Prouvaire asks, holding the smile as he catches Bahorel’s gaze lingering.

“Am I not allowed to admire your visage, my friend?” Bahorel covers up his quickening heartbeat with a laugh.

Maybe the wine had gone to his head more than he realized.

A blush creeps into Prouvaire’s cheeks before he bites his lip. “You may, of course. Is that a new waistcoat? I haven’t seen it before.”

Bahorel looks down, having half-forgotten which waistcoat he put on before he went out this evening. “Ah yes, recently purchased. The lady in the shop said it was  _blood red_ , so you know. I had to have it of course.”

Bahorel meets Prouvaire’s eyes again, seeing something steeling in the light brown irises.

Bahorel knows that look.

He’s just not certain what it means  _right now_.

Before he quite realizes what’s happening, Prouvaire’s kissing  _him_.

Bahorel thinks for a split second before kissing him back.

He’d been thinking about it, but Prouvaire beat him to the punch. Some people might be surprised.

He isn’t.

Prouvaire pulls back abruptly, blushing again. “I’m sorry,” he says, breathless. “I didn’t even…”

Bahorel grins, taking one of Prouvaire’s hands and intertwining their fingers, noticing the smears of ink around his friend’s knuckles.

“Do I look like I’m complaining?”

Prouvaire shakes his head, looking slightly more serious now. “No. Shall we try again? For the poetry, you know.” Prouvaire’s eyes gleam with excitement and curiosity and an affection so contagious Bahorel feels it in his chest.

He kisses Prouvaire first this time.

Perhaps there ought to be a conversation. They’re friends after all. Close friends, and any sort of romance might grow messy. And yet, Bahorel finds he isn’t worried. Whatever this is, they’ll figure it out. His friendship with Prouvaire has always been the most natural thing in the world, no matter how different they are. This feels natural, too.

When they break apart, Prouvaire starts laughing, his cheeks red with amusement as the sound echoes in the cozy flat.

“What?” Bahorel protests. “Laughing at my kissing are you?”

“No, no.” Prouvaire puts a hand to his chest, controlling his laughter. “No, you are as good a kisser as I suspected.”

A laugh bursts out of Bahorel now, booming around the room. “Been thinking about it have you?”

“So were you!” Prouvaire exclaims, grinning. “Besides, leave me some of my mystery, won’t you? I’m owed that, if we’re going to pursue this.”

Bahorel winks at him, taking the hand he isn’t already holding. “What were you laughing about then?”

“Oh! That I never answered your question about how I liked Notre Dame de Paris,” Prouvaire tells him. “I did. It’s quite dark, you know. Not like the romance novels Courfeyrac usually reads, even if he’s the one who recommended it to me. A priest stalks this young woman and has her framed for a crime she committed and locks his ward in the bell-tower because he’s deformed, you see, and…”

Bahorel smiles at Prouvaire’s ramble, putting one hand up. “Don’t spoil the whole thing my good man! Let me read it on my own.”

Prouvaire huffs. “Will you read it  _quickly_? I’d like to discuss it with you.”

Bahorel winks. “Only if you kiss me again.”

Prouvaire obliges.


End file.
